


Mot

by phlossie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Psychopomp!Derek, You Have Been Warned, Young!Stiles, cannon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 22:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4803944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phlossie/pseuds/phlossie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wolf doesn't sleep at night, he doesn't need to, but he has a feeling he couldn't if he tried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mot

**Author's Note:**

> Psychopomp is the 'official term' for a 'guide of the soul' into the afterlife, all credit to Urban dictionary for the definition. The definitive example would be the Grimm Reaper. 
> 
> For those of you who are feeling maybe a little uncomfortable with the tag 'cannon character death' there is a brief synopsis at the end of the fic.
> 
> on a side note, 'Mot' is/was the Canaanite god of death, and I liked the metaphore of people as mots of dust.

 

“So I tell this guy, I tell ‘im: ‘look, I’m not a fucking genie alright!’” 

 

The pull ripples over his body as the others laugh.

 

“Ya‘lright Wolfie?” 

 

He nods, “Just another passer.”

 

They all bob their heads as he makes his exit, and he faintly hears Red exclaim: “Ooh! Oohh! Ive got another one” as he splits.

 

 

* * *

 

Its a hospital this time, one of his preferred lifts; death is expected here, sometimes even welcomed; the pain is more restrained and the passers are usually less confused, more accepting. 

 

It makes his job easier. 

 

Sometimes.

 

The kid must be about seven, not much older, although theres a slope to his shoulders that would normally stay off a few more years. 

 

The woman is waiting for him in the chair. 

 

She’s watching her body, or maybe the child, with an intensity that bespeaks understanding.

 

He hopes this one will go smoothly. 

 

“I can’t touch him.” Its a statement, but Wolf nods. “He- He knows I’m dead, but he hasn't gone for the nurse yet. He needs t- My husband.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. 

 

Wolf’s lips thin. 

 

“Can you help him?” 

 

The idea actually flutters about his head for a moment. 

 

“No.” 

 

“Please” There are tears glistening on her cheeks. Her son wipes them for her and she instinctively reaches for him. Her body doesn't move though, and Wolf can see the moment she finally succumbs to it, the realization, the fear. “What will happen to him”

 

What is he supposed to say... 

 

What do they honestly expect him to say. 

 

They always ask, and they never like the answer.

 

He extends his hand to her and she looks at him sharply. “I’m not leaving. God knows how long he’ll sit there- I’m not leaving.”

 

He inwardly sighs, “And you can both sit here together? For eternity?”

 

Her face hardens into resolution. 

 

Damn, they could be so difficult, Shiba always said he was bad with the difficult ones. 

 

“No, but I’m not leaving.”

 

His neck prickles. _This is taking too long._  

 

“You already have.” Stating the obvious perhaps, but she seems a little stuck in her mindset, and he doesn’t want another haunt on his hands. Not this decade.

 

She narrows her eyes and stares him down, he glances at the kid to escape.

 

It’s a mistake.

 

“Who’re you?” 

 

“What.” He can’t move, the word tears from his throat on reflex. This wasn’t supposed to happen- they were supposed to warn him if- there were _precautions_.

 

“Who are you?” Wolf’s skin prickles all over, he is staring in the face of innocence, and it’s literally tearing down the walls of Her carefully constructed order.

 

“I wont leave until you help him.” 

 

He feels rather than hears his neck crack as he whips his head round to face her. 

 

“I can’t-”

 

“Who’re you talking to? Is it Mommy?”

 

He reels back, the kid has rounded the bed to peer at the chair his mother is sitting in. 

 

They aren’t meant to touch. 

 

The kid frowns, and wolf feels minutely relieved that the child is unable to see her, even if it rules out the possibility of a double pass. 

 

“Help him.”

 

There cant be any harm- the child has already seen him. He doesn't have time to argue.

 

“Hey kid, you should go tell someone, you know?”

 

The mother rolls her eyes.

 

Wolf ignores her. “You need to find your dad.”

 

The kid turns his peaky, spotted face up and Derek questions his earlier estimate of age, up close it looks more like five. A tall five. 

 

“Yeah, I- Okay... Will- will you be gone when I get back?

 

Wolf nods.

 

“Will Mom be gone too?”

 

“Yes” It comes out how he feels, small, unhelpful, scared.

 

“Okay.” The kid takes a deep breath. Resolving his face into a determined frown, scrubbing at the tacky tear marks on his cheeks. “Okay.” He turns back to Wolf “Tell Mom I love her.”

 

He nods.

 

At the door he turns again very briefly, as though afraid if he lingers too long his resolve will crumple, and looks right at Wolf. “Bye”. 

 

His little feet slap loud on the polished floor as he runs down the hall.

 

Derek can barely breathe.

 

The Woman appraises him from her chair. 

 

When he finally finds his voice he asks “Are you ready now?”

 

She simply rises, gracefully, to her feet and reaches out a hand.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, Please feel free to leave your feelings in a comment either way. 
> 
> Derek is the Psychopomp sent to collect Stiles Mom, Stiles is present and aware of the interaction, although he is not distressed (well his mum has just died, but he doesnt freak or anything). 
> 
> You can find me on  tumblr  .


End file.
